


Heart of Ice

by makkurataichou



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst?, M/M, Mikleo exploring lots of ruins alone, basically lots of Mikleo alone, ice epileo AU, pining?, travelling through Glenwood alone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makkurataichou/pseuds/makkurataichou
Summary: He would much rather take a chance on his own ability, instead of fighting a losing battle against a formless source. AU where Mikleo tries his best to wait for Sorey...and fails.





	1. Mikleo

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a discussion with [Namio](https://twitter.com/NamikazeH4) from AGES ago. This is long, wordy, and probably full of inconsistencies, but it’s FINALLY DONE...and this isn't even all I have planned -sobs-

When Mikleo opens his eyes, he is standing in Camlann again.

The first thing he does is look up at the sky. It’s bright and blue and _beautiful_ , and he almost cannot believe that the air around him had once been thick with malevolence. He looks around to see his friends standing amidst the ruins, looking just as disoriented as he feels. Everyone is there...except for one person.

 _Sorey_ . The Shepherd, his _best friend_ , is nowhere in sight. He keeps glancing around, wondering if he missed him the first time around...or the second...or the third....

It soon becomes clear that Sorey is not amongst them. Mikleo only has a moment to wonder why before the memories from the final battle suddenly come flooding back into his mind, nearly knocking him over with their sheer intensity. He remembers standing beside Sorey and the others, fighting a massive draconian beast. He remembers armatizing with Sorey at the last moment—the sensation of cool water rushing through him, the two of them occupying the same space, separated but whole—

—and then whole no longer. The last thing he remembers is being fired at the beast, and Sorey whispering three soft words right before he pulls the trigger, and him wanting to know so much what they were, wishing he could go back to that moment more than anything—

He all but collapses when the memory fades. It feels as though he has been given sight again—the green fields of Camlann, the familiar ruined buildings are a comforting presence after the darkness within his mind. Then, he distantly realizes that someone is shaking him, and that his vision is still a little blurry. As his eyes come back into focus, he can better make out the concerned expression on the red-haired woman’s face.

“Oy, Mikleo! Snap out of it!” she cries, her grip tight against his shoulders. He raises his hands and places them against her arms, and she immediately leaps back, realizing that he is conscious again.

“Thank goodness,” Lailah sighs from behind her. “We were worried about you, Mikleo-san. Being released from a pact so suddenly is difficult to deal with.”

 _A pact_. He mouths the words slowly, then looks up to meet Rose’s azure gaze. “Sorey…” he begins carefully, weighing his words on his tongue. “He won, didn’t he?”

Solemn faces stare back at him. Zaveid is the first to respond, turning back to look at Artorius’ Throne. “Yep, Sheps did it,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he tips the hat on his head forward just a little. “And now he’s sleepin’ with Maotelus, all nice and comfy.”

“We can only hope.” They all look at Edna, who is kneeling by herself a short distance away, her umbrella hiding her from their view.

“Maotelus was locked up for a long time,” she continues, absently picking at a blade of grass and running it between her thumb and forefinger. “Who knows how long Sorey is going to have to stay in there?”

She shrugs lightly, looking more defeated than nonchalant. They all feel helpless, but there was nothing more any of them could have done. In the end, only the Shepherd’s power can purify the land, and this is the only way the purification can truly last. Once their combined light spreads through the continent and across the world, the malevolence will begin to disappear, along with the hellions. It could be months, years, _centuries_ before any of them see him again.

Mikleo places a hand on his heart. He has lived his entire life with Sorey up until this moment, and the thought of not knowing when they will see each other again makes his chest ache. Questions buzz around in his head— _will he still be alive? Will his body still be human? How old can humans grow to be if they are fused with seraphim?_

He cannot stand to think about Sorey’s body withering away in some old, forgotten ruin.

* * *

The five of them decide to go their separate ways. Although their journeys brought them closer together, the urgency of their situation at the time of their pacts means that many of them still have unfinished business to attend to. Edna needs space to deal with her brother’s death. Zaveid too, though he chooses to be more flippant about it and claims to want to travel the world in his memory instead.

Lailah wishes to stay in Camlann a little longer, to honor the memory of her previous Shepherd and his sister. Rose has her duties as the leader of the Scattered Bones and Sparrowfeathers—with the current state of the world, she is sure to have her hands full.

And Mikleo? Sorey had been the center of his world. Wherever the human went, he had followed; such was their bond, and their eventual destiny. But now, his beacon is gone, and all he can do is turn to the people of Elysia. To the rest of his family.

 _‘What will they say when I return home empty-handed?’_ he wonders as he begins the long walk back to Elysia. They’d made a promise to bring Gramps back, but he is gone, and Sorey along with him. How will he explain this to the other seraphim, whose worlds had once revolved around the two of them as well?

It has not even been a day and Mikleo already wishes that Sorey were by his side again.

* * *

The home of the seraphim is known for the unconditional love that stems from its inhabitants. The seraphim of Elysia welcome Mikleo back with open arms. They listen to his story, seated together in Zenrus’ old home. Many cry for the loss of Zenrus—their leader and father figure. Many cry for the loss of Sorey—the human who once filled their idyllic lives with his warmth and joy. Many cry for Mikleo, knowing how close he was to the two. But in the end, they all have the company of each other, and for now, that is more than enough.

“This is your home, Mikleo,” they tell him when he locks himself up in his house the next day, the weight of his situation finally hitting him all too hard and all at once. “We’re all here for you, and for each other. Let us be your comfort.”

He knows he cannot stay long. He has a promise to keep—a promise to see the world through his and Sorey’s eyes, to learn all he can from the ruins of days gone by. The Celestial Record still lies nestled within the folds of his coat—a gift entrusted to him to Sorey before the final battle. Its weight shifts uncomfortably, almost as if it is reminding him of his goal.

He spends several days wandering aimlessly around Elysia, trying to memorize the sights, the sounds, the smells of his hometown. The other seraphim watch him without a word. They do not want to admit it, but they know that he will leave them behind again soon.

“You are _always_ welcome here, Mikleo,” they begin to say instead, making sure he is aware of his freedom. “No matter what, you will always have a home in Elysia.”

He accepts their warm words and gestures with a smile. After a month, he leaves.

* * *

The world is his oyster now. It is difficult to decide where to go first, and so Mikleo pulls the Celestial Record from his coat and leafs through the well-worn pages, searching for a map. The Galahad ruins are closest to Elysia, he surmises, and he was never able to explore them completely when they were last there. Mikleo supposes this is as good a time as any to pay them another visit.

As soon as he steps inside the stone structure, however, the stench of malevolence overpowers him, nearly bringing him to his knees. He realizes he should have expected this; after all, the purification of the land has just begun, and it will be a while before all the malevolence within such ancient, sturdy structures can be cleansed entirely. Sorey’s power as Shepherd had protected all of them from being corrupted during their journey, but now that he is gone, Mikleo is in immediate danger of becoming a hellion...or worse.

_‘It was only thanks to him that we were even able to pursue our dream in the first place. On my own I’m weak, but when he was with me...I could do anything.’_

It is with a heavy heart that Mikleo leaves the ruins that day. The malevolence, coupled with the still-fresh memories of losing Sorey...knowing that he would have to walk through empty hallways alone, examine murals and decipher runes alone, get excited about ancient mechanisms _alone_ —

He can’t go on like this, not unless he finds a solution.

* * *

Mikleo returns to the Galahad ruins three weeks later. By now he has read through the Celestial Record enough times to be able to recite its entire contents in his sleep—something he previously thought only Sorey was capable of. After doing that as well as recounting their journey, a single memory stands out to him that could help him traverse the ruins safely.

_‘Water is easily corrupted, but not ice. Ice can keep malevolence at bay a little longer.’_

Mikleo knows that it is a long shot, but it is definitely worth a try. _For Sorey_ , he tells himself as he closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath. Then, he begins to encase himself in a thin layer of ice. It creeps up his arms and down his legs and winds around his torso until he is eventually fully covered. He flexes an arm; it is slightly stiff, as are his legs when he tries to move them around. He knows that this form of protection is not the most comfortable...but for now, it will have to do.

When he pushes the doors open, he notices that the malevolence is still there, but it no longer makes him want to double over and empty the contents of his stomach. The smell of ice is strong enough to overpower the rotting stench, and that in itself confirms his theory. The ice may only give him an hour at best, but at least it seems to be working.

Mikleo stiffly begins to make his way inside, making a brief mental note to visit the library in Marlind some time in the near future. A gut feeling tells him that there has to be a better way than this.

* * *

One of the first few things that Mikleo begins to teach himself on his travels is to treat time differently from the way humans do. Having grown up with Sorey, a human, he had weighed his time as Sorey would have. Now, when he observes human settlements from afar, it is more apparent that his days are like their _weeks_ and his months are like their _years_.  

His journey takes him across the continent and through different ecosystems, and before long, Mikleo’s previous suspicions are confirmed. Although coating himself in ice is effective, it is not the best solution; depending on where he goes, higher temperatures inside and outside each ruin make the ice melt faster, preventing him from completing his expeditions. He carefully takes notes near the structures he isn’t able to explore properly, hoping to revisit them someday in the future.

After all, he does have all the time in the world.

His visit to the library also turns out to be of no help. Most of the literature is human—something he should have expected—and most of it talks of military exploits or prominent figures in modern history, dating only up to a few hundred years ago. To find ancient history regarding seraphim, he would need to go back a few thousand years at _least_ , and he has no idea where to begin to look for such accounts.

Unless, of course, he goes directly to the source.

It takes Mikleo a few years before he finally decides to visit Edna atop Rayfalke Spiritcrest. Mikleo has staunchly avoided contact with his other seraphim friends, knowing that both he and they needed space to deal with their own lives. At this point, however, he needs the guidance of an older seraph. Mikleo has always been highly conscious of his youth, and though he tried his best to make up for it through rigorous training during their travels, his current problem is one that can only be solved by experience.

He finds Edna seated near a small shrine dedicated to her brother. She glances up at him as he approaches, having felt his footsteps reverberate through the earth. Pushing herself to her feet, she frowns slightly.

“You brought flowers,” she says blankly, directing her gaze towards the colourful bouquet in Mikleo’s arms. The younger seraph says nothing in response, choosing instead to move closer and place the flowers on Eizen’s shrine.

He tells her about his journey; tales of deep forests and even deeper ruins within, stretching farther than any of them could ever imagine. It has been so long since he has had someone to talk to about his travels. Edna listens without a word, indulging him for as long as she can. Then, when he mentions his third visit to Tintagel, she raises a hand.

“Get to the point, Meebo. I know you’re excited, but you’re also here for a reason, aren’t you?”

Mikleo falls silent and looks down at the ground beneath his feet. He doesn’t quite know how to put his question into words.

Finally, he asks, “Is there a way we seraphim can grow closer to our elements?”

“This is about your ice barrier, isn’t it?” She eyes him carefully. “You want to know if there’s a way you can make it stronger.”

Surprised that she had actually been listening, he nods slowly. “I just...want to be able to stay in the ruins for as long as possible. So I can learn whatever I can.”

Edna closes her eyes, seemingly hesitant. “My brother...told me something a long time ago,” she begins. “On his travels, he met an earth seraph whose skin was as hard as actual rock. The guy introduced my brother to his wife, and she was see-through. Kind of like a ghost, but still alive.”

Mikleo raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure that wasn’t just a story he made up to scare you when you were younger?” he asks, and receives an icy glare in response.

“My brother didn’t lie. Not about _that_ , at least. I could tell.” She swings her legs back and forth. “He believed it was because _“they’d both grown so in tune with their elements, it was as if they’d become their elements”_.”

She pouts. “That’s what _he_ kept saying, anyway. He was so excited, it almost made me want to throw up.”

The younger seraph can’t help but smile. ‘ _So Eizen found that stuff interesting, too. Maybe Edna couldn’t stand my discussions with Sorey because they reminded her too much of_ — _’_

“Anyway. That’s your answer, basically.”

“H-huh?” He snaps out of his thoughts and sees Edna eyeing him curiously. “Wait, _what’s_ the answer?”

“Stupid Meebo,” she scoffs. “Apparently there’s a way that we seraphim can become “one with our element” if we train hard enough.”

“C-could it really be that straightforward?”

She places her hands on her hips. “You say that like you can master your element in a decade. It takes _centuries_ of practice, brat.”

Mikleo bristles. “But that still means it’s within my reach.”

Edna stares at him for a few moments, then lets out a frustrated sigh. “You’re hell-bent on this, aren’t you? Fine. But I should probably finish my story first.”

She absently kicks a pebble around with her finger. “My brother visited them again a few decades later. He asked around the whole village, and they all shook their heads and pointed at their house. And when he went in—”

Edna looks him in the eye, dead serious. “He found a hunk of rock shaped like the guy. And his wife was gone.”

This time, Mikleo rolls his eyes. “Now that’s _really_ unconvincing. You make it sound like some kind of horror story! There are so many possible explanations for that—”

She kicks him in the shin. Ignoring his yelp of pain, she says, “Believe what you want, Meebo. But there are things even the oldest of seraphim can’t explain. For example—there’s probably a reason why we haven’t seen four out of the five lords you guys used to keep babbling on about.”

His shoulders stiffen. He hadn’t thought about that.

“Just...be careful. None of us want to find a Meebo-shaped ice sculpture in the middle of nowhere. It’d be a pain to deal with.”

Her unexpected display of concern makes him smile again. “Thanks, Edna,” he says warmly. “If I ever figure it out, I’ll try not to use it too much.”

Edna doesn’t respond, and that conversation ends there. They continue to talk, briefly discussing what they think the others might be up to. As the sun begins to set, Mikleo bids her farewell and begins his long walk back down the mountain. Edna watches him go, a bittersweet expression on her face.

“You idiot,” she whispers to herself. “If my brother was right and the ice actually _does_ start to take over…”

_‘I’m scared you won’t even have a choice.’_

* * *

The years pass by in a blur as Mikleo remains focused on his goal. Instead of ruins, he visits lakes, waterfalls, beaches—anywhere he can learn something from the water itself. He studies the ebb and flow of the tides, the phases of the moon, even the erosion along cliffs where waterfalls change their course over decades.

He continues to meet with the others until Rose passes away, soon followed by Alisha. Painfully reminded once again of how fragile and short human lives are, he decides to distance himself from the others and return to Elysia. There, he spends his days watching storm clouds as they move across the continent; from atop the mountain, he can see where they travel and observe the patterns in rainfall. He watches and takes notes and _waits_ . Despite the fact that this feels like busywork, he _knows_ that every day he spends growing closer to actually understanding his element will soon prove useful.

When he finally believes he has studied enough, Mikleo begins to practice as well. He channels the emotions of the water into his spells—the patience of a lake, the anger of the tides, the compliance of streams—until he sees his magic growing stronger, more purposeful than ever before. His precision increases; his form improves. When he uses his artes, the water dances at his fingertips.

Before long, he also begins to learn how to adjust his own body temperature, shifting it a few degrees lower and higher at will. It takes all of his energy the first time, and the second, and the third, but from then on it begins to get easier and easier. He continues studying and practicing, isolating himself even from Elysian society and spending his days in dedication to his element instead.

It still takes him a century before he starts to see the difference.

The first sign comes when he finally visits Lailah in Ladylake, where she still spends most of her time serving as a mentor to the new Shepherd; a descendent of Rose’s. She greets him warmly as she always has, running up to him and taking his hand in hers—

—and dropping it almost instantly when steam begins to rise from their linked fingers. Mikleo winces slightly, but turns his hand over to see that only his fingertips are slightly scalded.

“Mikleo-san, don’t tell me—”

He looks at Lailah only to see that her eyes are wide and her face is deathly pale, even more so than usual. She is trembling slightly, and her hands are tightly gripping the ends of her dress. He takes a step towards her but she recoils, averting her gaze, and a strange fear suddenly grips him. He doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“Lailah, I…” he tries to explain, only he _can’t_ explain. He doesn’t know what is going on, why she is so afraid and why a single touch from her hands could have hurt so much—

Unless.

The fire seraph manages a shaky smile. “So, Edna-san was right. You’re beginning to master your element!” She tries to look supportive, but she is hardly convincing with her slumped shoulders and clenched fists. “We’re all proud of you, you know! And Sorey-san would be too!” she adds with a watery laugh.

Mikleo bites his lip, not knowing whether to thank her or call her out on her body language. “You seem more proud than scared, Lailah,” he says finally, opting for the latter. “Is this...were you expecting this to happen?”

Lailah sighs. “I was hoping it wouldn’t affect our interactions, but...you really _are_ turning to ice, Mikleo-san.”

Her words are accompanied by unexpectedly mixed feelings. He feels proud of his accomplishment, but at the same time, the worry etched into her expression does nothing to ease his mind.

“I...guess I am,” he says. There is nothing else he _can_ say, really. After all, this was what he had been hoping to accomplish for so long. Sure, it had been an untested theory to begin with, but it had given him something to focus on for an entire century. And now that it had actually _worked,_ maybe he would finally be able to explore the depths of the Arctus ruins—

“Please, Mikleo-san. Now that you’ve gotten this far, please stop. It might not be too late.”

He is confused. “Stop…?”

Lailah nods, almost desperately. “This should be enough for you to explore the ruins, right? If you train any more, you could—”

She cuts herself off, the lump forming in her throat making it difficult for her to speak. Realisation gradually dawns on Mikleo, and he takes a hesitant step closer.

“Lailah,” he begins, offering her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Please don’t be worried. If this works out, I won’t need to train anymore. I’ll be alright, really.”

She meets his gaze, hesitantly at first, then gives him a small, genuine smile. “Well, then...I hope this new development doesn’t put your ruin exploration on ice!”

Mikleo lets out a relieved sigh. _There’s_ the Lailah he remembers.

He leaves the city with a newfound spring in his step, promising to return to explore the Vivia Aqueduct once he has tested out his theory elsewhere. Lailah sees him off with a smile and a few more puns (“It’s a prom-ice, indeed!”).

Perhaps it is due to the change in his body or his overall excitement that he fails to notice the clouds of malevolence swirling around the city, seeping into its waters yet again.

* * *

War breaks out a few decades later, and not even the descendants of the world-renowned Princess Alisha Diphda can stop it from happening. Hyland and Rolance have been reunited, but internal disputes over land and resources still occur between the smaller settlements that have since sprung up across the continent. Even though the land is being purified from the inside out, it cannot prevent human hearts from generating malevolence, and so it is only a matter of time before small conflicts give rise to larger, more organized attacks.

By now, Mikleo has been away from human settlements long enough to not have seen it coming. He has spent the last few years exploring every ruin, every forest, and every cave that he has stumbled upon, writing pages of notes and placing them within the Celestial Record for safekeeping. He has also been careful not to use his powers more than necessary, and to his (and his friends’) relief, his body temperature has been returning to normal.

With the air brimming with malevolence, however, it is tempting to allow his powers to grow further so he can resist it and continue his travels. Seraphim without vessels cannot go long without being corrupted, especially when the air is so thick with negative human emotions. Mikleo wants nothing more than to keep his promise...but with the current state of the world, he is not sure how long he will last.

Eventually, he chooses the safer way out, returning to Elysia and resolving himself to the role of spectator. Guilt claws at his heart; he wishes he could help somehow, especially knowing his powers are stronger than ever. But what good is a seraph to humans who refuse to accept his existence?

“Sorey, I wish you were here,” he whispers to the wind on nights when the moon is full and the stench of malevolence no longer reaches past the mountains. “You would know how to end this. We seraphim...we can’t do _anything_ . They won’t even listen to the current Shepherd, but...maybe they’d listen to _you_ …”

His pleas are met with silence. On some nights, he cries; on others, he simply stares longingly into the distance until exhaustion finally forces even him to rest. He misses his friends; he misses _exploration_ and _discovery_. On days when the weather is good, he paces about the town restlessly, finally beginning to understand what a _small,_ _stagnant_ space it is when compared to the rest of the world.

 _‘I can’t stay here, Sorey, I just can’t_ — _’_

His pacing grows faster and more frequent, and the other seraphim of Elysia notice it as well. Kyme eventually tells him to sit down, and they all gather around him, concerned. He assures them that he is fine, that he just needs to stretch his legs, but it is evident in the way that his fingers and legs twitch that he needs more than just a short walk. They offer him whatever advice they can before leaving him to his own devices, their worried expressions lingering even when they are a few feet away.

Mikleo does not want to be a burden to anyone. He cannot stand idly by while the humans threaten to bring ruin to their cities and the entire continent, but there is nothing he can do to stop it. He wants to leave, more than _anything_ ; were it not for the malevolence, he would have been long gone—

 _‘There is a solution,’_ says a voice at the back of his mind, and he pushes it away as quickly as he can. The risks of using his powers on himself are too great, and he knows it. Mikleo has spent too long studying and exploring to let it all be in vain.

_‘And that isn’t even the real reason.’_

Mikleo can’t bear the thought of Sorey waking up to a world without him. He wants to be _right there_ beside him when it happens. He longs to see his smile again, to hear his laugh echo through the ruins when they go exploring together. He longs to hear Sorey say his name again, whether he is shouting it to the heavens or whispering it in his ear like a long-kept secret. He misses Sorey—his best friend, his other half, his _one and only_ —more than anything else in this world.

_‘I can’t let the malevolence get to me...but even if I stay out of the war, I won’t last long like this.’_

* * *

It takes him less than a century to give in.

The fear of being corrupted by the malevolence that filled the land during the war...the fear of Sorey awakening and finding him as a _dragon_ instead...these thoughts begin to plague his every waking moment, eventually invading even his dreams and waking him up in the middle of the night, leaving him gasping for breath. They continue to persist until he can no longer live with the anxiety clawing at his heart like his own personal hellion.

He weighs the consequences of being corrupted against the consequences of turning to ice. Being frozen would affect only him, but turning into a dragon could throw the entire world into chaos. If the danger to him is the same, he would much rather take a chance on his own ability, instead of fighting a losing battle against a formless source.

And so, he begins to use his powers again. He feels a sense of familiarity when he finally casts his first spell in years, and lets out a shaky breath as he feels his body begin to grow colder. It is uncomfortable yet soothing, and Mikleo feels his worries evaporate almost instantly. He lets out a soft laugh; after all these years spent in conflict, he can hardly believe how easy it was.

Finally, he can continue on his journey.

* * *

The war ends several years later by the decree of a Shepherd—the fourth? Fifth? Mikleo has lost count by now. The humans manage to make peace with each other, and seemingly within themselves as well, as the number of humans who are able to see seraphim begins to increase steadily. They are delighted, as are the seraphim—finally, the two races can begin to coexist.

 _‘Just as Sorey dreamed,’_ Mikleo thinks with a smile as he treks through the Cambria Caverns, heading deeper and deeper into the darkness of the earth.

Within its furthest reaches, he finds a series of ancient carvings...as well as a cluster of malevolence. The negativity generated by the war seeped into the earth, where it continues to linger even now. Every cluster he finds reminds him of how much longer Sorey now needs to sleep in order to cleanse the continent.

The _sheer uncertainty_ of the situation still fills his heart with dread. The war set the clock back too far; how can anyone guarantee that this peace will hold? At this rate, how can he be sure that Sorey will be allowed to awaken ever again? These questions drift through Mikleo’s mind, but he presses onward, refusing to linger on them any longer than necessary.

The malevolence no longer affects him now that his body temperature is low enough to keep it at bay. A few rays of sunlight filter through cracks in the walls, making his body glisten with an almost ethereal light as he wades through a shallow pond, eager to view the mural on the other side.

Mikleo reaches out and touches the image of the creature etched into the wall. The corners of his lips turn up to form another faint smile.

“I win again, Sorey. The head _was_ on the right.”

* * *

The decades pass. His hair grows longer, and his body grows colder. He begins to wear more layers of clothing in an attempt to keep himself warm, but they do nothing to help. The cold stems from within; yet, he stubbornly refuses to stop using his powers, having grown increasingly dependant on his ability to freeze himself. But even with the extra protection, he still avoids contact with human settlements for fear of the malevolence they could contain.

It is years before Mikleo finally finds the courage to revisit an area that the humans had once occupied. Perhaps it is nostalgia that brings him to a deserted field in the midst of what used to be Rolance’s famed Pearloats Pasture. Any crops that had grown beneath his feet were destroyed during the war. No person, human or seraph, has been here in decades.

He looks out across the ruined landscape and feels a strange longing stir within his chest. “Sorey,” he says out loud. No one is around to hear him.

“Sorey,” he repeats, clenching his fists. “ _Sorey_.”

Mikleo chants his name over and over again like a prayer, and tears leak from his eyes, spilling over his glassy cheeks. He can no longer feel the trails of water as they run down his face; his entire body has grown numb. But the ache in his heart still remains, dulled for so long by his determination to _stay alive_ and _see the ruins_ and _document everything for Sorey when he wakes up_ —

Centuries of pent-up loneliness come crashing down upon him in a single instant, and he falls to his knees. He wraps his arms around himself and curls into a ball, shaking with sobs and letting his tears fall onto the barren earth beneath him.

_‘Please...please come back.’_

* * *

His expeditions gradually begin to grow shorter. With each one, Mikleo finds his energy draining faster, and even his footsteps feel slower and heavier, preventing him from doing too much at a time. He takes more breaks than usual to compensate, even sleeping longer if necessary, but somehow his energy levels never seem to return to what they once were.

_‘The others were right. This is what Edna warned me about. What Lailah was so afraid all those years ago. If I even went near her now...I would melt.’_

Conflicting emotions gnaw at his heart. How much longer does he need to keep doing this? Will Sorey ever return? Is it worth risking his life like this for someone who is long gone, instead of living for those who still remain?

Mikleo shakes his head. _‘Sorey will definitely come back. He has to, after keeping me waiting all these years. I can’t stop...not now.’_

* * *

It is with a heavy heart that he awakens one day only to realize that he can no longer raise his body temperature at will.

A bitter smile makes its way to his face, and before he knows it, he is laughing out loud, his voice echoing throughout the Lamorak Caves. It is a laugh filled with regret, as well as acceptance. He knew that this day would come eventually.

His hands and feet are solid, more crystalline now, he observes, as he slowly makes his way through the caves and eventually, out of the Volgran Forest. The warmth of the sun’s rays stings his icy skin. He has started to lose track of time over the years, but even _he_ knows that at this rate and under these conditions, he will never make it back to Camlann to be by Sorey’s side.

So he settles for what he can get. Using his staff for support, Mikleo begins his final, slow journey across Lakehaven Heights, towards the Lefay shrine—the site of the water trial. He is grateful for the large clouds that pass over the large continent, partially shielding him from the sunlight.

He passes by the city of Greater Marlind, which is now home to a large university and an even larger library than ever before. He makes his way past the Rayfalke Spiritcrest, and he glances up at the peak of the mountain, hoping Edna is still there somewhere, caring for her brother’s shrine.

_‘Forgive me, Edna.’_

He treks past Ladylake, stopping briefly only to admire the way the still water reflects the light of the sun. Having spent so long in the darkness underground, the glistening buildings atop the surface of the lake are a sight to behold. He only wishes he had the time to stay longer.

_‘I should have listened, Lailah.’_

When he finally slows to a halt before the waterfall that will lead him into the shrine, Mikleo is already out of breath. He digs his staff into the ground and leans heavily against it, panting slightly.

“Zaveid…” he whispers into the wind. “If you can somehow hear this...please, be there for Sorey when he wakes up. He...he’ll need someone, now that I’m not there.”

As if having heard his words, the breeze picks up slightly. Mikleo follows its path as it tugs at his cloak, urging him to look up at the sky; it is clear, save for several large, white clouds that linger above him.

He smiles. It is only because of their constant shade that he was able to make it this far out in the open without melting in the heat of the sun. They seem almost protective as they huddle together, reminding him of the person who has kept him going up until now.

_‘Sorey.’_

He clutches at his chest and feels only the smooth surface of solid ice beneath his frozen fingertips. He has been away from society for so long, he has forgotten what it feels like to touch another person; to feel the warmth of another hand against his own. All he has left are the memories, and even those seem so distant now. Decades, centuries, millennia...none of those matter anymore. All that matters is that he is finally out of time.

But at least he can say that he tried. He did all he could to keep going, to keep his promise to Sorey. And now, even though things have turned out this way, he has no more regrets.

The Celestial Record still lies wrapped in the folds of his jacket, heavier now with the pages he added over the centuries. Maybe when Sorey awakens, he will still remember his love for history and the Celestial Record. Maybe his thirst for knowledge will eventually lead him back to the Lefay shrine, where he will find Mikleo’s frozen form standing amidst the ruin. Maybe then, if he is able to return Sorey’s precious book to him...it will all have been worth it.

He pulls his staff from the ground and walks forward, whispering a single word before disappearing under the curtain of water.

“Goodbye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Marlind Library" sounds nicer to me than "Dumnonia Museum which also has books"
> 
> Some fun twitter discussion cameos: Lailah’s attachment to Camlann/Michael/Muse, Eizen being a huge nerd, resource disputes across Glenwood.


	2. Sorey (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorey wakes up and struggles to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So considering how long the previous chapter was, I've been working on this one for a _long_ time, haha. Tbh I was hoping to finish this whole thing in two chapters, but as usual it got out of hand, so I decided to split Sorey's POV into two parts. I hope you guys enjoy this one, it's been a while!!

Two more centuries pass before the Shepherd opens his eyes again.

His mind is a fog filled with memories that he cannot piece together. A city seated upon a lake. A group of people in coloured clothes and kind, smiling faces. A sunrise mixed with hues of purple, pink, and orange. All these thoughts swirl around like a concoction brewing within his head; yet, he does not understand them, nor know how they came to be there. All he knows is the pain that slowly begins to creep up his spine and into his joints, making him aware of how long his body has remained slumped against a crumbling pillar.

He shakily pushes himself forward onto his knees, breathing heavily at the exertion, then heaves himself upright, leaning against the pillar for support. His legs quake beneath him, but he still tries to take a step forward, then another, then yet another, latching onto a nearby wall instead. He feels a weight on his head unlike anything he has ever felt before, and distantly realizes that his silver hair has grown long and matted.

_ ‘Silver…’ _

Somehow, that sounds unusual. A part of him feels like he should be using a different colour instead...like black, or  _ brown _ . The strange feeling persists even as his legs slowly begin to gain strength and he is able to walk faster, more confidently towards the source of light at the end of a seemingly-endless corridor.

The scent of fresh grass arrests his senses when he steps outside and into an endless green meadow. He marvels at the way the clouds lazily drift across the sky, and the sight soothes him, making him want to lie down and watch the world go by.

Then, the sound of distant whistling fills his ears. He follows it, the breeze picking up beside him when he breaks into a run. He sees the figure of a man in the distance, staring up at the sky with his hands in his pockets, and somehow he is filled with a sense of nostalgia. The man is whistling a familiar tune—a song that makes him think of soaring to greater heights, propelled by the wind.

When he finally draws close enough to slow to a stop, the man is already watching him, hands on his hips as if he has been waiting. His face breaks out into a wild grin when he says, “Welcome back, Sheps.”

_ ‘Sheps…’ _ He tests the word on his tongue, and the voice that escapes his lips cracks from disuse. The strange man, unfamiliar and yet  _ so familiar _ , lets out a hearty laugh.

“You’ve been out for a long time, kid,” he says, taking a step forward and throwing his arms out. “And you’ve gone and become a seraph too! Who would’ve thought?”

When he gets no response, the man’s expression turns softer, more sympathetic. “Which means you’ve probably forgotten all about us, huh, Sorey?”

“Sorey…” the younger seraph repeats after him. “My name...is Sorey?”

“Yeesh, you forgot that, too? The others aren’t gonna be happy to hear this.”

The man runs a hand through his unruly hair, and Sorey tilts his head slightly. “What’s...your name?” he finally asks, curious about this mysterious—and blatantly shirtless—man who seems to know more about himself than he does.

“Me? I’m Zaveid.” He grins again. “And you, Sheps, have a  _ long _ journey ahead of you.”

* * *

Sorey winces as Lailah runs a comb through his matted locks, using her free hand to gently untangle the most unruly knots. Zaveid and Edna simply watch on, both amused and concerned.

“Still, to think you would awaken as a seraph, Sorey-san, and one of  _ fire _ no less!” Lailah exclaimed. “It truly is wonderful! There are so many things I would like to teach you!”

“And I’d love to learn from you, Lail-AGH!”

She pulls away briefly and offers a sincere yet mirthful apology, allowing him to clutch at the side of his head as the pain subsides. Sorey is pretty sure he never had this much hair to deal with before he was a seraph—he would very much like to cut it short, but Lailah insisted that he allow her to groom it first. Her excitement warms his heart in a nostalgic way...not to mention she had been crying into his shirt just moments before, so he doesn’t really want to deny her such a simple request.

As he sits there making idle conversation with his seraph companions, he begins to slowly regain some of his lost memories. It appears that fusing with Maotelus rendered his situation unique—instead of losing his memories completely, they were simply locked deep within, and he needed to experience the world further to draw them out.

He asks about Alisha as memories of her calm eyes and hopeful smile fill his mind. He asks about Rose, the thought of her cheery grin and determined attitude filling him with warmth. And then, he is told that they passed away hundreds of years ago, that they were happy, that their legacies live on even today, passed down through the generations. The words are kind, but they do nothing to fill the hole in his heart—he feels a sense of loss, accompanied by guilt at not being able to remember them as he had known them all those centuries ago.

As the conversation continues, he begins to feel like something else is missing. An important part of their group—someone who had always just  _ been there _ , who should be with them even now. Talking to the others should make him happy; instead, he only feels incomplete. It feels as though there is a name sitting at the tip of his tongue, just barely out of his reach, and he struggles to give it form.

Edna is the first to notice his discomfort. She stands up and slams the tip of her umbrella against the ground, bringing the conversation to a halt.

“You're trying to remember him, aren't you?” she says, and her words sound more like a statement than a question. “I can see it in your eyes, Sorey.”

She looks around the room, focusing on Lailah and Zaveid in turn. “Even if we try to avoid the elephant in the room, he's going to remember sooner or later. We might as well tell him now.”

Zaveid tips his hat downward, hiding his eyes and refusing to meet her gaze. Lailah, however, gives her a fiery look.

“It would be  _ cruel _ , Edna-san,” she insists, her eyes pleading with the earth seraph to understand. “Especially with the way Sorey-san is now, he couldn't possibly—”

“Hiding it is even more cruel, Lailah,” Edna snaps in response. “He was important to Sorey—more important than anyone else. How long can we keep up this farce before he remembers? How long do you want to erase his existence from Sorey’s memories?”

Lailah flinches. “I-I wasn't trying to erase him, Edna-san! Mikleo-san was my dear friend too...I only thought we should wait a little longer…”

The two of them continue to argue, but Sorey no longer hears their voices.  _ Mikleo _ ...the name rushes through him like a raging current, filling his senses with every emotion possible. He is reminded of the warmth of the sun, the cool, refreshing taste of ice-cream, the sound of raindrops falling from the sky. Why does it sound so familiar? Why does he have a sudden longing to get up and walk out of the cathedral, to look for this person whose face he cannot even remember?

“I...have to go,” he whispers, standing up in preparation to do just that. The seraphim cluster around him immediately, preventing him from taking another step.

Zaveid speaks first. “We can’t let you do that, Sheps. You’re not ready yet...not the way you are now.”

Sorey doesn’t quite understand what he means by  _ not ready _ . “I’m finally awake...and I remembered someone important,” he protests, albeit weakly—he barely remembers much about the person in the first place. “What if they’re waiting for me? And even if…” He clenches his fist. “...I still need to  know  where they are...why they were so important to me.”

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t go now, Sorey,” Edna says. “You hardly remember anything about  _ yourself _ , let alone Meebo. You’re useless the way you are now.”

_ ‘Useless? Meebo?’ _ An image of a disgruntled violet gaze suddenly flashes in his mind, along with the words “don’t call me Meebo!”, though he cannot remember the voice that had once spoken them.

Lailah places a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Sorey-san. Wait just a little longer. There are still many things I need to teach you, and you need time to remember.”

She exchanges a glance with Edna, who nods firmly. It appears that the two of them came to an understanding while he was lost in thought. He sighs and nods weakly—at this point, his friends know him better than he knows himself. All he can do is trust in their judgement.

At his response, the seraphim relax visibly. Lailah runs a hand through Sorey’s long hair, but says nothing more. Edna crosses her arms and turns away, while Zaveid does the same, placing his hands in his pockets instead.

“I’ll go check on our Mikleo-boy while you’re training,” he announces, his voice suddenly laced with exhaustion. “I’ll be back in a few weeks, and then I’ll take you there myself, Sheps. Deal?”

Sorey nods again. A few weeks...it sounds too long to wait to see someone as important as this Mikleo. But he supposes that if his friends waited centuries for him, he can afford to be a little more patient.

* * *

Two days later, his memories of his family in Elysia return, along with a memory of his final battle with Heldalf, the Lord of Calamity. They come to him in dreams, forcing him to relive the moment when he was to kill Zenrus. The person who had raised him. The father he’d never had.

Sorey awakens with tears streaming down his face. Lailah hears him sobbing from three rooms away and rushes to his side, standing beside his bed as he continues to cry. She offers him silent support, wiping his face when he is calm once again, and tucks him in carefully when his eyes begin to close as exhaustion finally sets in.

She watches him sleep and her heart aches. With the state he is in now, there is no telling how he will react when he finally learns about Mikleo. If only she could have kept it from him a little longer...now, all she can do is train him and hope for the best.

She places a hand on his head. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to the quiet room, to Sorey, to Mikleo, to  _ herself _ . “I’m so sorry.”

* * *

“Breathe in, then out, Sorey-san. You need to focus.”

Sorey was never good at sitting still, and it seems as though the trait has managed to persist even after his rebirth as a seraph. He drums his fingers against his crossed legs and tries his best to focus, but it’s so hard when his mind is still swirling with thoughts and feelings and all kinds of memories. Every day, he finds himself remembering just a little more, but he is still prevented from acting on his memories.

Lailah and Edna agree to keep him on a loose form of house arrest, preventing him from leaving Ladylake until his training is complete and he remembers more about his past. However, even the smallest things help him make progress—the giant water wheel, the sweetfish sold at the inn, even the cathedral itself. Pieces of his journey start to come together, but somehow he can never quite seem to remember the one piece that matters most.

“Can you tell me more about Mikleo, Lailah?” he asks her one day, when the questions bubbling within his chest become too difficult to ignore during one of their meditation sessions. He hears her breath hitch slightly, and opens one eye to see her frowning, her eyes still closed.

“Mikleo-san was…” She bites her lip. “He was your best friend, Sorey-san. The two of you knew each other best...your memories could tell you more, if they came back.”

“I know that,” Sorey breathes, closing his eyes and trying to fall back into his previous rhythm. “I know, but...if you tell me more about him, maybe it’ll help me remember.”

Lailah exhales slowly, but says nothing more. A long silence stretches thin between them, and Sorey tries his hardest to quell his curiosity, trying instead to focus on his breathing. Moments later, however, her voice cuts through the air, soft yet unwavering.

“You and Mikleo-san were both raised together,” she says. “He was passionate about exploration, just like you were, though I doubt you remember that. And...he was always watching over you, no matter where you went.”

“He...he was?”

Sorey feels a hand on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes to see Lailah watching him, careful yet hesitant. He can see the weight of hundreds of years of worry and sorrow in her lonely gaze, and he wishes he could do something to take it away.

“You were a very important person to him, Sorey-san,” she says softly. “And he was important to you, too. That’s why it’s best that you remember him yourself.”

He lets out a breath, tremulous and hesitant. A question burns at the tip of his tongue, but he is afraid to voice it. Because if this Mikleo was such an important presence in his life—

_ ‘Why isn’t he here now?’ _

* * *

“You and Meebo always talked about the ruins,” Edna tells him during one of their walks around Ladylake. The setting sun reflects beautifully off the surface of the still water surrounding them, but Sorey is too lost in his thoughts to appreciate the view. All he wants to do is focus on Edna’s words and try his best to  _ remember _ .

“The ruins…” he repeats after her slowly. Sorey has thumbed through several journals in the past few weeks, and it’s true that he feels some kind of inexplicable attachment towards some of the older, more detailed books, though he can’t quite explain why. Every conversation he has is an excuse to try to fit the pieces together.

Edna hops down the steps near the aqueduct and looks up at him expectantly, waiting for him to follow. “You were obsessed,” she adds, rolling her eyes lightly. “Even after you went to sleep, Meebo kept travelling around the world so he could keep exploring them. Some kind of promise the two of you made, apparently.”

Sorey cannot for the life of him remember what said promise was, and that mere fact makes his chest hurt just a little bit more than usual. Had it really been  _ that _ important? Clearly Mikleo had thought so if he had continued to keep it. To think that becoming a seraph has allowed him forget...Sorey clenches his fists. It’s  _ cruel _ .

The fragments he has managed to gather are still few and far between—childhood laughter ringing through grassy hills, quiet moments spent reading books in front of a warm fireplace, the weight of many heavy conversations, words spoken in hushed voices. And all of these have one thing in common: a pair of calm violet eyes, ever watchful, ever supportive. Even after so much time has passed since his awakening, it is the only thing he can remember.

_ ‘Why can’t I do more?’  _ He shuts his eyes tightly and grits his teeth.  _ ‘If he’s so important to me, why can’t I remember anything else?’ _

Edna notices his reaction and jabs him in the stomach, bringing him back to his senses. “Don’t force it that hard,” she says, and although her voice is deadpan, her words are laced with concern. “Whether it takes weeks, or decades, or even  _ centuries _ , let it happen naturally. Meebo isn’t going anywhere.”

“You keep telling me that, but you never tell me where he is.” He swallows thickly. “Seraphim can die too—”

Her eyes flash dangerously, and he cuts himself off. No more words are spoken between them that day.

* * *

The dreams come every night, vague and fleeting. But this is the only one that lingers just as strongly as the nightmare he’d had only a few months ago.

“I said I’d wait for you, didn’t I?” A familiar laugh rings out, accompanying the mirthful words. “I’m still waiting, you know.”

Sorey feels himself reaching out into nothingness. “Tell me where you are, then,” he pleads. “Help me find you.”

The dark void around him seems to pulse in response to his words. It represents how lost and alone he’s felt since waking up, despite having Lailah and Edna for company. Sorey knows that the person he is now is only a shell of the person they used to know; he sees the longing and the hesitation in their eyes every single day. All he wants is to return to being who he was before, but if all his attempts at trying to remember continue to fail...then maybe finding his  _ important person _ will trigger something locked deep within.

“Mikleo!” he calls into the void, desperation getting the better of him as he lunges forward. “Mikleo, where are you?!’

He runs and runs until dawn breaks and Lailah shakes him awake, reminding him that it was just a dream. But the strange ache in his legs still refuses to go away.

* * *

_ ‘I need to go to him,’ _ his mind begs day after day.  _ ‘He’s waiting...he’s been waiting so long. Why won’t they let me leave?’ _

Sorey’s house arrest becomes harder to bear with every passing day. He wanders aimlessly around the outskirts of Ladylake—the farthest he’s allowed to go—and his heart aches as he looks out at the rolling hills and the vast expanse of the lake. Something calls to him from far beyond Lakehaven Heights, and it tugs at him so urgently that it physically hurts to ignore it.

“You're not ready, you need more time, more training,” Lailah and Edna say, but as his determination steadily returns, the urge to shake his head and refuse them grows ever stronger.

Until finally, one day, he can no longer avoid the call. And so, unwilling to confront the others and too impatient to wait for Zaveid's return, Sorey does what he did so many centuries ago.

He runs away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love everyone's seraph Sorey headcanons, but I'm particularly attached to fire seraph Sorey because it gives Lailah an opportunity to mother him even more :^)

**Author's Note:**

> "Marlind Library" sounds nicer to me than "Dumnonia Museum which also has books"
> 
> Some fun twitter discussion cameos: Lailah’s attachment to Camlann/Michael/Muse, Eizen being a huge nerd, resource disputes across Glenwood.


End file.
